Nights of the Wolf
by Shoddywork
Summary: Detective Urawa, two years removed from the events of "Youma Dust", has transferred to the Tokyo Homicide Department. Trying to distance himself from the battles of the Senshi, a vicious serial killer's targets hit too close to home.
1. Chapter 1

_The Night of the Wolf_

_Chapter 1: Urban Predator_

By Shoddywork

So, here it is, the next story involving Detective Urawa. I guess I decided I wasn't done with the poor guy yet, though this story will take a decidedly darker turn than _Youma Dust_ did, so those of you bothered by violence and horror, you've been forewarned. This chapter is short, but I will be releasing more soon. If you have any comments or criticisms, please leave a review.

* * *

He stood on the top floor of the parking garage, a wild grin torn ear-to-ear across his face, the moonlight glinting off his carnivorous teeth, the neon from nearby buildings casting nauseating floodlight over his body. Sweat dripped down his neck, past his shaggy, unclean black hair, and rolled down his arms, mixing with her blood and running off his fingers onto the concrete. There was more blood; blood by the bucketful sprayed across his gray jumpsuit, seeping into the white canvas of his sneakers, sticking to the black latex of his gloves, and smeared across his face marked by two dead brown eyes. The grin had all the warmth of a wolf after a kill, panting and delirious and, for the time being, satiated. But it wouldn't last long, not if the pattern held true: exhilaration on day one, regret on day two, pride on day three, and hunger on day four.

What had started as a hunt of purpose, no, necessity had become a joy in and of itself. She wasn't the right one, he could tell when the last of the shimmering light faded from her eyes and the gurgle of blood in her throat ended, but it felt damn good anyway, it almost didn't matter that this was a failure. The man had told him that this was to be a mission of purpose and precision, but there was so much joy that he could keep doing this forever if necessary. But that voice reminded him again that he needed to find these girls, that his very life and salvation depended on it—they were an affront to mankind after all.

His was a life of quiet anguish that went unnoticed; a drifting existence that yielded nothing, a lifeless tree that bore no fruit. Here was a chance to do something more, to impact the world in ways it wouldn't even begin to appreciate. It had started a month ago, when the man came to him—in a dream, or on the street, he wasn't quite sure—and confirmed everything that he had suspected. There was a deadly fog that was hanging over the city, an unmistakable presence that screamed that doom was marching over the horizon. Five figures were here amongst them, representing a bastardization in the natural evolution of man, that posed as champions of good as they tore their bloodied hands into the soul of the city to rip out its beating heart. The man said that he could cure this evil, blow out the fog, with his own bare hands and that he could finally realize the love and admiration that he always desired.

The man had never mentioned how much he would love the work, though. True, the first girl nearly blinded him with her radiance, and he had trouble luring her into the shadows and his muscles twitched with fear when he plunged the knife into her ribs and twisted. She had even bitten down onto his hand during the struggle, which pierced his skin and took some of the enjoyment out of the proceedings. But the second girl, he got it right that time; his heart soared when he heard her muffled squeals of pain, a sound that thrilled him so much that he couldn't stop stabbing even after she was already dead. His knife had become a physical extension of himself, almost like a sensory organ that he could no more get rid of now than he could chop off his own arm.

He stood over her prone body, admiring the array of deep cuts that marred her flesh, that tore through cloth and skin and meat in a delirium of ecstasy. He bent down and inspected her face, grabbing her chin that was now cold to the touch and moved her head from one side to the next, drinking in her visage so that he would never forget the night they had together. He would take his trophy, which the man didn't approve of, but there were perks to this work, and he wanted to take full advantage of them. The sweetest would be when he could feel the helplessness of his real targets struggle against the power of his hands and their essence drift off into some distant night, scattered away forever in his moment of final glory.

Police officers were going to be hunting for her soon; there would be worried parents, paranoid, their heads filled with thoughts of murder heightened by the blabbering hysteria of news anchors and talking heads. They would find her eventually, and he couldn't afford to be singled out this early, with so much yet to be done. Only one thing left to do before he could go home, weep bitterly into his pillow and fantasize about other nights and other glories. He reached down, pushed the blonde pigtails floating from tightly wound odango's that sat on her head away from her ear, and brought the knife down below the lobe. As he cut through, the silver earring she wore jangled about, filling his ears with their metallic ring. It sounded like church bells...

* * *

As Detective Sugara Urawa ducked beneath the yellow police tape and into the parking garage, he had already steeled himself for another night of carnage. It was a sick, sad time to be living in Tokyo, and as a newly minted homicide detective, he had a front row seat to it all. Granted this wasn't what he had hoped for when he took the job; just the opposite in fact. All the Tokyo prefectures put together only average a murder rate of about 1.4 per 100,000 people in a year, which is almost sixty times less than some U.S. cities, so to say that Urawa thought he was walking into a cushy job would be an understatement. Plus, it would get him away from the organized and property crime cases that occasionally lead back to the Senshi. It had been two years since his first fateful encounter with Makoto and the gang, an experience that left physical reminders all over his body, and he was tired of the burning urge to intervene on their behalf when things got rough for the girls. Especially because Setsuna would string him up by his balls if there was even a hint of interference on his part.

So he took the job in homicide and was ready to settle into a comfortable routine when young girls started showing up dead. The first time around, it seemed like the work of a psychotic boyfriend or jilted admirer, but when the second girl was found carved up like a steer fresh out of the abattoir, there was only one conclusion he could come to: their was a damn serial killer on the loose. The media smelled the blood in the water with this one, and they packed the sidewalks, shining floodlights into the vacant car park. Their time to waste, since the murder occurred on the top floor, and unless they started parking their asses on adjacent rooftops, Urawa was only going to give them the information he wanted to give them.

So here he was, middle of the damn night, woken up out of a fitful, medicated snooze to record the senseless murder of another young girl while the pack of wolves outside regurgitated half-baked theories and fiery rhetoric to an already jittery populace. As the sound of his footsteps trudging up the concrete steps to the fourth floor reverberated around him, they seemed to pound home the importance of finding the man who did this, who brought these young lives to a senseless and brutal end. He was a monster, an animal, without conscience or thought who thirsted for carnage. But to what end? That was the damn question that was so elusive.

Urawa calmly strolled to the center of the open-air top floor, now ablaze with police lights and abuzz with the comings and goings of the four crime scene techs working on the case, gathering blood samples and snapping photos all around him.

"Urawa! About damn time you got your ass here, we've been waiting for you before we moved the body!" Takashi Sone's voice had all the bite and venom of a man who had been interrupted during the act, something his disheveled appearance and wrinkled black polo shirt and dark jeans confirmed. He was a wilting reed of a man, beat down by a cruel bitch of a world that seemed to joke about his very existence, and his natural demeanor bore all the traits of a man who had settled for what little life was going to offer him. He was also Urawa's partner, something that Takashi loathed; he didn't enjoy playing wet-nurse to a new detective, but his new partner's jaded and narcissistic view on life managed to foster a little fatherly concern on the veteran's part. Not that he was going to let Urawa in on that secret any time soon.

"Sorry, sorry; I had to drive all the way across town, and those bastards in the public works department decided to shut down the street in front of my house..." Takashi's face stated the obvious: that he didn't give a good God damn what excuse he had, so he might as well drop it while he was ahead. "So, we're looking at the same M.O.?"

"Everything fits: young girl, seventeen years old, multiple facial contusions, looks like she was beaten first while she was dragged up here, then multiple stab wounds with a large bladed weapon, and her right ear severed completely. No signs of sexual assault, no signs of a struggle here on the rooftop..."

"It started down on the street, on the sidewalk as she was passing by. He dragged her into the shadows by the entrance, beat her, took her unconscious body up here and..." Takashi finished the sentence, pantomiming a disturbing stabbing motion, a visual reminder which might have bothered some of his previous partners. "Looks like there are droplets of blood leading towards the railing by the street, probably the killer walking off the adrenaline before he left."

"Or basking in it. Looks like the ear was last again; blood flow had already stopped by the time he got around to cutting it off. We've got men talking to people in the neighborhood, see if they saw anything."

"Nothing will come of it. He's too new at this, and still too careful. He loves the risk, the thrill of killing these girls in public, but he's familiar with the area and the people who live here. He wouldn't do it if he felt he was going to get caught."

Takashi nodded his head in agreement, "He's not done yet with whatever the hell it is he wants. The son of a bitch probably lives or works around here, so nobody would notice him walking home in the middle of the night. Probably has a bag or sack to carry his tools in, maybe has a change of clothes in there as well. He's getting used to the routine, and he's obviously liking it. We'll have to wait for the coroner to confirm, but it looks like she has 20, maybe 30 stab wounds, quite a few more than the first and second girl. That number might increase with his next victims if we can't figure out this guy's pattern, stop him before he gets going again."

Urawa's teeth were clenched tight as the blond odango's glistened in his eyes, murmuring, "We'll find him, God help the bastard..."


	2. Chapter 2

_Nights of the Wolf_

_Chapter 2: The Illusion of Safety_

_By: Shoddywork_

So here is chapter two as promised. As usual, leave comments, feedback, and rants as a review, and I'll be sure to put out more soon. One note to make: I reference Pepper Lunch in this chapter. For those of you who are unaware, Pepper Lunch is a Japanese fast-food chain, specializing in what is called "fast steak".

* * *

They say that fluorescent lights are unflattering. That is absolutely true, and even less flattering for a corpse, which isn't much to look at in the first place. Nami Watanabe was undoubtedly a pretty girl in life, but laying on a steel gurney she looked old and weathered already, the skin a full alabaster that hinted at blue, a sight that she would have been disgusted by if she were able to witness it. Detective Urawa hovered over the body for a moment while the coroner prepared his tools; now that she had been stripped bare and washed, the triangular stab wounds were even more apparent, spread across her body like bloody constellations. The bruises on her face had turned an even deeper purple as the body started it's final transformation, that is until her family would be able to cremate her.

"Looks like she has a few broken facial bones, Doctor," Urawa observed. The coroner glanced over his shoulders as he snapped his latex gloves on, making a thin snapping sound that was…somehow disturbing.

"By the bruising, and some of the facial deformation, I'd say she probably had most of the bones in her face broken. Only a prize fighter or an animal could do something like that. Then he stabbed this girl so deep he ground the hilt into her."

Urawa glanced up with a mild look of amazement on his face, "He got the blade all the way through…?"

"Yes sir, that's what it looks like. If you notice some of the chest wounds, probably the first stabbing wounds she suffered judging by the clotting and bruising, you can see some red indentations next to the cut. That's where the handle of the blade hit her flesh as he was stabbing. Hell, with that kind of force he probably could have run her through with a street sign." The coroner moved towards the body, inspecting it tentatively from head to toe before picking up his scalpel, stating to himself, "No obvious signs of sexual assault, though we'll run through all the tests just to make sure. Judging from the marks where the ear was removed, your killer is using a large, serrated knife, probably kitchen or commercial variety judging by the size of the wounds."

"Looks like there's some dried substance on her neck and face," Urawa noted, moving in to get a better view.

The doctor joined him, scrutinizing the flesh through his thick-rimmed glasses. "Definitely something we'll test; probably saliva or nasal secretions, but we'll get to the bottom of that. Something I did notice was this large cut on this girls left ring finger. No blood loss or bruising around the cut, so it has to be post-mortem."

"Looks like he took a ring from her hand," Urawa muttered.

"Could be, we do see this kind of injury quite a bit with murders, usually an ex-husband getting back at his wife."

Urawa sighed to himself, "None of his victims were married, and this girl is way too young anyway. It bothers me; he's only taken the ears before, we've never found other items missing from one of his bodies. It must mean something."

"Well, that's were you come in, so I'll just get started with her if you don't mind." The coroner motioned Urawa out of the room noiselessly, and the detective complied. He had other work to do, besides, and he couldn't spend all morning watching this butcher go to work. He had stopped by his apartment before meeting back at the station in order to take a shower and get himself dressed, which was his usual black-on-black suit and tie. Urawa also had time before leaving to get in touch with Makoto to finalize plans that he was hoping he wouldn't have to cancel now. He was going to take her out to dinner, nothing romantic, but a simple plutonic get-together celebrating her recent graduation, that he of course had to miss. Her gift was sitting on his desk, a deluxe pastry kit along with a semesters tuition for culinary school, and at the very least he wanted to make sure to give that to her before the night was over.

Urawa hated how his work often made him unreliable, a horrible trait that manifested itself in his divorce years prior. Knowing Makoto gave him an opportunity to make it up to somebody, and the idea of failing her as well was an omnipresent fear that hung over him and crawled into the pit of his stomach whenever he had to call her and cancel plans. She understood what he was going through, and it wasn't like her duties as a member of the Senshi didn't have her coming and going at all times of the day, but she was still a kid and could be forgiven. Urawa felt as though this was his cross to bear alone; even his job would have to wait in order for him to fulfill the oath that he had made to himself.

"Do you drag ass at everything you do, or do you just like getting underneath my skin?" Takashi bellowed from the hallway.

"Which answer is going to piss you off the most?" Urawa gruffly retorted, his facial expression unchanged.

"Well, that's all I needed to hear. Let's head over to my desk, talk some things over; I have the victims record in my sweaty little hands, and we should get through this before the parents come down to talk to us."

"Got it. But just so you know, I'll be taking off for a few hours tonight, around six, so don't try and drop too much on my plate right now. I'll be back afterwards, so if anything comes up just give me a call."

Takashi's eyes drifted over to the package on Urawa's desk, "Hot date tonight?"

"Nothing like that, I'm just meeting someone for dinner."

"That's a girly lookin' present you have on your desk there; if it's not for a girlfriend, who could it be for?"

Urawa smirked, "Oh what the hell, I'll ruin the surprise. I bought you some pastry utensils; you're such a grumpy old bastard that I figured baking might just be the thing to take your mind off of menopause."

"The only thing I need is a hammer and a good place to bury you," Takashi growled.

"It's for…well, let's just say it's for a little sister, I guess that will do."

"Ah, 'little sister', huh? And what's 'little sister' going to do for her 'big bwudder'?" Takashi cackled.

"It's not like that, you filthy old man. She's IS like a sister to me. Damn, I thought old men like you only existed in manga," Urawa cried, a worn look of exasperation plastered across his face.

"Well, I wasn't aware that you had any sisters."

"I don't-I met this girl on a case, she didn't have any family, and I felt like she needed an older figure in her life to help guide her, you know? Kids who go through something like that, it can make them hard and bitter, not unlike yourself. But she's a sweet kid, and I don't want to see her throw her life away because no one took the time to reach out to her."

Takashi nearly gagged, replying, "Okay, that's enough of the saccharine stuff, alright? What you do on your off time is none of my damn business, but if I need to interrupt your little rendezvous tonight don't think your impassioned speech is going to stop me." The veteran collapsed into his chair, stuffed behind a worn old desk that seemed to have been dragged out of a museum, cluttered with yellowed papers and grime. Urawa nervously settled into the chair across from him, which looked like it had seen better days itself, and cleaner ones.

"Your furniture is gross, man; how does facilities let you get away with keeping these relics?"

"Stay with the department as long as I have and you could turn this area into a pigsty if you wanted."

"Well, you're already pretty close," Urawa groaned, pumping out a dollop of sanitizing lotion from Takashi's desk.

"Hey, I didn't bring you over to play housekeeper!" Takashi cracked open the fresh manila folder that was sitting on his desk, adjusted his glasses, and started, "Girl's name is Nami Watanabe, seventeen years old, just finished her Junior year in high school. Seems to have been a good student, member of her school's track and Go clubs, no priors, no history of trouble in school, no history of drug use, and so on and so on. Straight-laced kid by all accounts."

"Just like he likes them," Urawa shuddered before finding his train of thought, "So was there a late club meeting, is that why she was out at that time of night?"

"Patrol contacted some of her friends, got their info from her parents, and they said they were having an end of the school year celebration. It was at one of the kid's house; parents were home all night, made sure there wasn't anything funny going on. Nobody at the party seemed to see anything suspicious, but we can stop over there tomorrow and speak to her friends ourselves."

Urawa interrupted, "He chose her, this isn't just random. None of these kids were criminals, all young, pretty, I'm sure he had been watching them somehow. When we talk to the parents, maybe we can put together some kind of time-line for her last few days, maybe find some correlation with the other victims that we haven't seen before."

"Let's hope; aside from age and clean records, these girls seem to have little in common. The first victim was Ayame Ishida, also seventeen, about 160 centimeters tall, no club affiliations, was a mediocre student, and somewhat of a loner."

"Odd hair color," Urawa noted.

"Yeah, blue dye job, kind of a trendy thing I guess. Second victim was Yoshiko Kundo, excellent student, member of multiple clubs, about 169 centimeters tall, very popular in her class. Neither girl knew each other, since both went to different schools, and they don't seem to share much in the way of common interests."

"So, we have three girls, different backgrounds, from different schools, and no link to one another. According to Ayame's parents, she went to hang out with some manga fans in her neighborhood for some kind of new release. Yoshiko was out late for cram school. Both girls were abducted on the streets; Yoshiko was dragged into an alleyway and Ayame was killed in a nearby park," Urawa finished.

"Guy _must_ have been tailing them, grabbed them when he saw his opportunity," Takashi concluded. The telephone on his desk, the only seemingly new item he owned, beeped for his attention. The detective answered, and with a few murmurs placed the receiver back down and grabbed the folder, saying, "The parents are here. I'm going to have you take the lead on this one."

"Tired of talking to parents about their dead children?" Urawa asked. Takashi simply nodded his head, the growing bags under his eyes saying it all.

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Watanabe, we'd like to thank you for coming down to talk to us today. I understand this isn't an easy time for you, but whatever information you can give us could help us catch the man that did this to your daughter." Urawa allowed his eyes to analyze the parents, drinking in every detail, but it was simply a scene that was becoming all to familiar. The father's eyes were beet-red, though he tried to maintain his composure, and he fists seemed restless, constantly kneading the legs of his pants in frustration. The mother was borderline catatonic, her eyes were just as red, but with a distant milky gaze that seemed to recognize nothing happening around her as real, that the whole world had become a figment of her imagination. "To start, can you tell us what your daughter was like? Was she popular, did she have a lot of friends, was there anything concerning her?"

The fathers voice cracked before he was able to sputter, "She was a good girl, everyone liked her. My Nami was going to Kyoto University next fall, just like her daddy did. She was happy, she had nothing to worry about, it was all right there for her!" His rambling ended in a shout, the veins in his neck protruding and straining against the muscle. "She was always good, she didn't deserve this!"

"Nobody deserves this, Mr. Watanabe. I understand your anger right now, but make sure to think clearly, did she mention anyone following her, or if there were any personal problems with any of her friends?"

"She doesn't go out late much; she knows we would worry about her. I should go home, Nami must be hungry," her mother droned in a voice that was almost robotic. Her husband gently laid his arm across her shoulders, keeping her in her seat.

"Everyone was happy that the school year was over, so she didn't say anything about personal problems. Because of her testing, she hasn't been able to get out much lately. The only other thing she's done with her friends lately, was…um, it was last week sometime," Mr. Watanabe stumbled, his eyes darting back and forth across the room.

"She went with her friends to buy the new Senshi card game. Nami doesn't like collectibles, really, but she looks up to the Senshi." Nami's mother finished with an empty stare towards the door, her features unchanged.

"That's right, she went with a few of her friends to the manga store down the street, then a café, and right back home. She didn't mention anything else about it," her father continued with a puzzled look.

"Okay, that's a good start. Now, in the past, do you know if she mentioned anything about that store, or if anyone had bothered her there before?" Urawa glanced over to Takashi, who was scribbling madly on a notepad, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"No, she went there regularly. Its just a small neighborhood place, though there are a few otaku who hang around there, but Nami always steered clear of them." Mr. Watanabe eyes began to mist, "Do you think that someone there had a hand in this?"

Urawa leaned over the table, squarely looking the grieving father in his eyes, before fielding the question with, "Maybe, maybe not. It's too early for us to tell right now, but this is a good place to start. Do you know if her friends…"

The detective's line of questioning was abruptly cut off with a loud crack as Mrs. Watanabe slammed her hands against the desk, screaming, "Why do you keep asking us about this shit? I just want to go home to my daughter, damn it!" Tears fell freely from her eyes, her face contorted in a look of desperate confusion. The droplets raced down her cheek and hung, suspended, from her chin before spilling onto the worn oak, gathering into a puddle of broken dreams. Sorrow lay in it's depths, a haunting sob reverberated throughout the room, and within her breast lay the tattered remains of the promise that every parent makes to their child: the promise of safety.

* * *

"Do you ever feel ashamed, Takashi?"

"I'm not sure I follow you…"

"I mean, do you ever feel ashamed with what we do? That we have to stick our fingers into other peoples wounds and open them wider?"

Takashi simply exhaled, before he grumbled, "You know what they say, someone has to do it."

Urawa glanced at his wristwatch, groaning, "Damn, I'm probably going to be late to meet Makoto. Hey, I'll be back in a few hours." The young detective grabbed the present from his desk before whipping out his phone to contact Makoto and let her know the situation.

"I'll still be here, so if anything comes up, I'll let you know. And don't get too loaded!"

* * *

Urawa found Makoto seated by a large window as she was busy gazing out across the rolling green fields of the nearby park. The restaurant was dim, but she sparkled in a light-green dress despite the gloom, an observation that made him wish he had time to change. He was still in his all black suit, which made him look like he was about to bury someone, not celebrate.

"You always know how to look festive," Makoto joked, catching his reflection in the glass.

"I should have taken my grandfathers advice and become an undertaker. I already have the wardrobe."

"Well, you're close enough, Mr. Homicide Detective. Fancy place by the way," Makoto continued while getting up from her seat, "some people might think we were out on a date." She smirked at the last comment before throwing her arms around him in an exaggerated display of affection, hugging Urawa close to her. "I'm really glad you could make it."

Urawa kissed her softly on the cheek, his eyes dancing with the fire like that of a proud father, "You think I wouldn't find a way to celebrate your graduation with you? I had to do something to make up for missing the ceremony, and I don't think taking you to Pepper Lunch would have been appropriate. Oh, and I got you a little gift."

"You didn't need to get me anything," Makoto sighed, blushing.

"Oh, shut up already and open it."

Makoto tore the colored paper out of the bag and shook her head gently, grabbing the package inside, "Thanks for the baking equipment," she giggled, "what am I, your wife?"

"You wish, kid, just keep looking."

Inside the box Makoto found a plain envelope, which she eagerly tore at until she was able to extract the paper inside. "You paid for my semester at the Tsuji Cooking School? Are you kidding me?" Makoto's face burned bright red, though she did lower her voice when she noticed the shocked gaze of disturbed diners. She hugged Urawa again, this time with a vice-like grip that, he felt, could have crushed his vertebrae. "Thank you so much, but you didn't have to do all this for me."

"You're worth it, and so is your future, so it's no problem at all," Urawa whispered. After prying Makoto's fingers from the back of his neck, he brought out her chair so she could sit back down before seating himself. "Now if you don't mind, I need a damn drink."

"I won't complain as long as I can have a sip of it," Makoto smiled deviously.

"Hey, you're still eighteen, little lady, you have two more years to go."

"Oh, you're no fun at all," Makoto grinned, but the edges of her smile lowered when she noticed the shade creeping over Urawa's eyes. "Tough case? Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"

"I'm dealing with the deaths of those teenage girls, so-well, it's difficult seeing this kind of thing It reminds me of the dreams I used to have when I figured out that you are, you know, what you are."

"It's never easy seeing people thrown away like that," Makoto murmured, grasping Urawa's hand.

"I just want to know that I'm doing my best for them, that I can help their families in some way."

"You're looking for this guy, that's all you _can_ do." Makoto glance back towards the already blackened skyline, saying, "I always had the same fear, when I joined up with the other girls. You see what these 'monsters' do to people, people just trying to live their lives the best they can, and you don't know if there ever is anything that you can do to honor them."

"You said you 'had' that fear?"

Makoto smiled weakly, "I guess I know now that righting those wrongs _is_ honoring their memory. While we can't bring them back, we can always stop whatever it is that happened to them from occurring again, and that's always the best thing. You can't worry about letting them down because all that will do is take away your focus, and make you less valuable. They need you to act, not to worry."

"I suppose it's just different now, since I'm dealing with peoples lives," Urawa stated matter-of-factly, while motioning for a waitress. "I just don't want to start viewing them as objects, is all. Can I really perform my job if I don't recognize that they're people?"

Makoto didn't answer that, but simply squeezed his hand, the softness of her skin radiating through his nerves, calming him in a way that always surprised him when it happened. The flickering candlelight in her eyes, as she gazed at him, struck him as almost cruel, that whatever God might be out there was taunting him with a girl that knew him so well, but couldn't be his. He wouldn't let her, and while there were nights when he sat alone in his apartment, with only a tumbler of whiskey to keep him company, that he wished that there was some other way, he always knew that keeping her like this, almost at arms distance, never as close as he suspected she always wanted, was the best thing for her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Night of the Wolf_

By: Shoddywork

_Chapter 3: Turn Off the Bright Lights_

**Thanks everyone for waiting, working sucks, yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, here's the next chapter of the story, so I hope you all enjoy. Please, leave reviews for these chapters if you have the time; it's always nice to know that people are paying attention.**

* * *

"Well, I'm stuffed," Makoto groaned, leaning back in her chair.

"I take it that this restaurant was a good choice?" Urawa smirked as she slowly comforted her stomach.

"I'll need to be in the gym for the rest of the week because of this," Makoto quipped, but her smile remained intact as she continued, "but it was great though."

"Sorry if I spoiled the mood earlier, there's just been a lot going on." Urawa rested his head on his hand, slightly leaning across the table, before asking, "Is it just me, or have there been a lot less calls for your 'services' lately? Seems like things have been pretty quiet for you."

Makoto's face nearly beamed with exuberance as she exhaled, "It _has_ been slow, and it's about damn time. I was worried that I was going to end up spending my entire high school career fighting monsters at night. I don't really know why youma don't seem to be popping up out of the woodwork as much anymore, but I'm not going to complain."

"You don't seem too concerned about it."

"Ami and Luna are looking into it in their spare time, but I'm not the brainiest girl there, so I'll leave that stuff to the experts," Makoto laughed.

"Hey, smart enough to do well in high school, and now you get to go to school for something you really want to do." Urawa scanned her face, which was now relaxed but with just a furrow in her brow which seemed to hint at some unspoken concern. "You bugged me, now it's my turn: what's the problem?"

Makoto shrugged off the question, saying, "It's nothing important, I'm just thinking about the future, is all."

"Future...as in school, senshi, etcetera?"

"Well, all that stuff has been on my mind also," Makoto frowned, continuing with, "but also the future between you and I."

Urawa groaned, rubbing his face with his hands in a mock display of exasperation, saying, "We're really going to have this conversation again?"

"I think that it's within my rights to bug the hell out of you about this until I get an answer that I'm satisfied with."

"If I don't have a good answer for you, then you'll keep this up forever? I might not be around that long," Urawa joked.

"You'll live longer than you probably think," Makoto muttered, turning to face out the window and it's panoramic view of the nearby park shrouded in darkness.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, forget I said it, and you're the one on trial here, not me."

Urawa followed Makoto's gaze out of the window as well, talking as much to himself when he said, "I guess if you know Setsuna, then the future seems much less like a mystery. Well, if you really must know, I'm still pondering it all; still trying to figure out what's right and wrong here."

Makoto's gaze darkened a bit, "You're saying there's something wrong with the way I feel?"

"It's not that but—there's a difference between someone of my age and someone of your age; that might be something you don't completely understand right now, but you will eventually. You still have a lot of growing up to do, and what I might want out of a relationship is something most eighteen year old girls wouldn't be able to handle."

Makoto swiveled in her chair slightly in order to gaze into Urawa's eyes, "You're still hung up on your ex-wife, aren't you?"

"I don't miss her romantically, if that's what you're asking, but it has something to do with that. A guy in his late-twenties is looking long-term, for marriage, that kind of thing. I worry about my ability to handle that responsibility still, but what I do know is that most young women aren't looking for that kind of commitment, not yet anyway. They're out there to have fun and experience life, you know, not get stuck with a guy for a long time. I guess it might be a maturity thing, because I wouldn't have been able to handle something like that when I was your age."

"You're saying that I'm not mature, is that it?" Makoto fumed.

Urawa reached across the table and took her hands in his, a contact that made his blood rush through his veins, which he hoped that no one else in the restaurant noticed. "If I didn't think that you were different from other girls, would I be so conflicted about this? I'm having a hard time _because_ I know that you're more mature than regular teenage girls, and my mind won't let go of the idea that maybe things could work out between us."

"Then why are we talking around it all the time, why can't we just try and see where it leads us? I'll make the first move if you're too scared to," Makoto whispered with a wink, showing a flash of devilish flirtatiousness that she knew would aggravate him. "Then you can stop playing the 'big brother' routine with your co-workers; I'm sure they'd be impressed with you dating a younger girl."

"You are going to get yourself in trouble, acting like that. Not as many guys are as considerate as I am."

"Well, if you still insist on figuring this out, have you at least thought about what I asked you a few weeks ago?"

Urawa gripped Makoto's hands a little tighter, before responding with, "I have...but it depends on my work. If I can wrap this case up before then, maybe I can..."

Makoto interjected with, "Well, you better get back to work, Mister, because I won't take 'no' for an answer."

* * *

Urawa strolled amongst the desks of the department's homicide division, a sprawling office space that was now mostly quiet except for the lone clicking of keyboards with bleary eyed night-shifters tucked dejectedly behind their desks. It was a night like most others, a night without commotion or teary proclamations, where the city drifted in and out of consciousness without the cry of savagery to fully rouse it. These were the nights were Urawa felt something that resembled peace, a feeling that was often lost upon him since the deaths of young girls rattled Tokyo.

Makoto's words still reverberated within his brain, especially her request for the detective to find the serial killer that stalked the blackened streets of the Azuba-Juban prefecture. True to his word, Takashi was still behind his cluttered desk, pounding away at the computer, his eyes starting to hint at redness. Urawa considered imploring the veteran to take the rest of the night off, but knew that wouldn't amount to anything at all. Takashi would head home when he was damn good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

"Still chipping away, I see."

Takashi peered up at Urawa through his reading glasses, before commenting, "Yeah, just taking another look at the notes here. Something about what Mr. Watanabe said today jogged my memory. You recall how Ayame Ishida, the first victim, was killed walking home from a manga store, right? I gave her parents a call, and they were able to tell me the name of the store she went to: Mangano-mori. So after that I followed up with Mr. Watanabe, and he was able to remember the name of the store that she had gone to a few days before..."

"Same place, right?"

Takashi eyes lit up like a dog who had finally caught a scent, "Exactly. I gave the family of our second victim, Yoshiko Kundo, a call, but there was no answer. We can give them a try again tomorrow, see if she had been known to go to the same store."

Urawa stroked the stubble on his face thoughtfully, an itchy reminder that he hadn't found the time to shave within the last two days. "It's a public place, and nobody would notice someone loafing around there, so it is a good spot for this guy to find his targets."

Takashi took a long sip from the cup of black tea that was perched next to his computer before adding, "There also has to be a tie-in here. A lot of teenage girls go to manga shops, but there has to be a reason why he's choosing these girls in particular."

"We'll just have to keep hammering away at it, is all," Urawa groaned, grabbing himself a cup of tea in preparation for another long night.

* * *

Senshi posters lined every available inch of the walls, walls which were stained with moisture and grime, decaying before him with a pungent-sweet stench that was almost like flesh. Only the rays from a single, yellowed bulb illuminated this hovel; the windows had been boarded up long ago. He had received letters and notices from the fire safety board, and from his landlord, but he didn't care. They were the same as buzzing flies, a mere annoyance that so desperately wanted to distract him from his real task.

The news of the last girl's death washed over TV screens with a renewed vigor. Soulless, eyeless, brainless chatter vomited from the box, decrying him even as he tried to save the city from..._them_. The man who had contacted him, set him upon his course, had known his instinctual dislike of the Senshi. There was something wrong with those girls, something that defied the natural order of things, a something that made them abominations that should have been scorned and hunted, instead of praised and adored. Tokyo was full of sheep that couldn't see that they were becoming the target for these 'girls' who represented a new branch of evolution that would one day swallow up humanity.

The man understood these fears when he had described them. It just happened that this fellow-in-shadow had actually been touched by these mutants, and had fell to the effects of their caustic magic. He said that the feeling of fire pumped through his veins, that his body no longer felt his own, and that's when he shared the secrets that this unfortunate meeting had opened up to him. The man let it be known that the Senshi would one day rule Japan, making it's citizens hopeless pawns forever indebted to their skirted overlords. He relayed tales of dark oppression masquerading as truth and justice, of a land where no one could escape the omnipresent eyes of immortal soldiers, of a land called Crystal Tokyo.

But, the dark man said, there was still time to stop them before the machinations of their plans gained too much momentum. That beyond their immortal disguise was the flesh of a woman, a weak vessel that could still be broken and destroyed. He stretched his arm out, sweat dripping off his skin, to touch the face of Jupiter, her frozen smile injected into paper, hung upon his wall. Posters, figures, toys, every manner of idolatry had been committed by the people of Tokyo, but soon they would realize the error of their ways.

"Little princess, I hope you'll make this all worth it," he whispered to his empty apartment, his gaze fixed on the eyes of Jupiter. And somewhere in the city, a man held his breath.

* * *

Urawa gave himself a once-over in the car's vanity mirror before putting down his small electric razor. He didn't get to sleep a wink the night before, and Takashi's fanatical drive meant that they had called upon the home of Yoshiko Kundo, deceased, before he was able to drop by his apartment and change. The family was still in the midst of grieving; hell, they'd probably be trapped in that purgatory for years. But Mr. Kundo had been able to verify for the two detectives that, yes, his daughter had been to the Mangano-mori shop shortly before her death. Mr. Kundo became frantic after the detective's simple inquiry, realizing that these men were on the trail of the beast that had taken his daughter. He pleaded for the detectives to bring the man before him, so he could cut his own justice. Takashi handed the man a card for the district's grief counselor.

"He looked like a rabid dog," Takashi mentioned, seeing the concerned look still in his partner's eyes.

"That's what worries me; you never know what a rabid dog will do."

"You think he might blow our cover?"

"If this guy is using a manga shop as his front, then the last thing we need is for a deranged father to bust down the door and scare him off."

Takashi took one last drag from his cigarette and smashed the butt out in his ashtray before responding with, "Well, let's have a patrol unit swing by there, just in case. The last thing this poor man needs is to end up in jail because he became unhinged and did something reckless."

"Well, what do you think _we_ should do?"

Takashi's gaze was glued out the windshield of his car, his hands lazily grasping the steering wheel as he eased through mid-morning traffic. "Speak with the owner, Mr. Norio Sato, first, see if any of our victims ran into trouble in his shop. I'm not worried about busting this guys balls; he doesn't match a basic physical description for our suspect; he's too small, not strong enough."

"And his website mentioned that he runs manga club meetings out of his shop during the time of the murders."

"Exactly," Takashi grumbled. "Then we split, tag around the neighborhood, ask some kids on the street if they know of anything going on with the store. Any beefs, fights, whatever. We'll keep an eye out, see if anything suspicious happens after we leave." Takashi pulled his white government-issue sedan into a nearby parking garage; the car might attract too much attention out on the street, the veteran surmised.

"Sounds good to me," Urawa exclaimed with the ragged exasperation of a man who just wants to get some damn sleep. He tugged his tie from his neck, tossing it into the back seat, before undoing a few of the top buttons on his starched white shirt. He also un-tucked the shirt and shook out his hair, just to shake off some of the 'cop' look. Takashi was more prepared, changing into a plain blue polo shirt and a Yomiuri Giants ball-cap that he always kept in his car for just such an occasion.

The two men crossed the street briskly and opened the door to Mangano-mori, squeezing into the thin aisles past herds of young men and women gawking at the newest releases. Urawa's nose bristled at the musty, dusty scent of the place, a venue with little air circulation and plenty of warm, sweaty otaku. Takashi took the lead, sauntering up to the counter and asking to see the owner, pulling his cap down over his eyes while he spoke. Urawa began to look around nervously, realizing that the pair probably looked like a couple of yakuza dropping by to shake the store down.

"I'm Norio Sato, what can I do for you guys?" Norio was a reed thin man, probably mid-thirties, probably wholly unfamiliar with the touch of a woman. His hair was a tangled mess and he sported a spotty beard that made him look like a castaway from society. He eyed the two nervously, like a rabbit in a cage.

"Maybe we can speak to you in your backroom?" Takashi suggested.

"I—I'm not sure that's a good idea," the owner retorted, nervously tapping on the counter.

Takashi silently slid his badge out, pushing it across the counter so he could get a good look. The gold flashed in Norio's eyes, and for a minute, it looked like he just might faint. Instead, he managed to gain his composure and motion the two detectives to follow his lead. The backroom of the store wasn't much better than the rest of the establishment, but at least it was safe from prying eyes. Manga was stacked floor to ceiling, and just finding a comfortable place to stand was a chore in and of itself.

"Wh-what can I do for you, gentlemen?" Norio's nervous habits were more pronounced now; somehow dealing with the cops was worse than dealing with a couple of thugs.

"Tokyo Homicide, Detectives Urawa and Takashi. We have a couple of questions for you, but first," Takashi started, pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocked, "could you take a look at these pictures? Do you recognize any of the girls here?"

"Ah...um, I do recognize one girl, Ayame Ishida, I think her name was," Norio sputtered while glancing over the sheet.

"And are you aware of what happened to her?" Urawa grumbled to the right of him.

"I-uh, I believe she was murdered, correct?"

Takashi slapped the shop owner heartily on the back, exclaiming, "Correct, Mr. Sato! Unfortunately I'm all out of prizes today, but maybe you can tell me what you think we're doing here, bothering you on such a nice day?"

"Um-ah..." Norio stumbled, unable to spit out a complete sentence in his state of confusion.

"I know you recognize Ayame, Norio," Urawa said, moving closer towards the befuddled man, "but every one of these girls came to your shop just days before their death. I'm sure you've seen the news all over town; all these girls are dead, sir, and they all went to your store. Now, don't you think that's interesting?" Urawa's voice was cold and calculated, the robotic tone adopted by a man who was used to squeezing information out of people.

"I _really _don't recognize the other two, honestly. A lot of kids come into the store, and most don't even buy anything. Ayame was a good customer, but I only spoke to her a few times; she's a quiet kid."

Takashi lowered his voice to sooth the owner's fraying nerves, "Well, let's just start with Ayame then, and we can talk about the others later, if we need to. What did she come to your store for?"

"Senshi stuff mostly: manga, merchandise, games, that sort of thing."

"Did she ever have any trouble with other people in your store?"

"N-No, not that I'm aware of."

While Takashi was coaxing the frazzled Norio to give up what dirt he had, Urawa scanned the small room. Besides the stacks of books, DVD's were scattered about, along with some risque models and sickeningly bright moe-centric T-shirts. Along one wall was a bright red poster with the phrase 'Back to Luna Movement' screaming across the top. A crude drawing of a senshi being shot into space adorned much of the rest of the sheet in a tasteless display of bravado.

"'Back to Luna Movement', huh? What's the deal with that?" Urawa questioned.

"Oh, nothing...just a meeting for, you know, conversation."

Urawa stared into the man's eyes, piercing through Mr. Sato as though he had run the wilting reed of a man through with a spear. "I'll be back in just a second, Takashi. I have a phone call I need to make." His partner waved Urawa off while the younger detective headed out through the shop and onto the well kept sidewalks of Azabu-Juban. Whipping out his phone, Urawa entered the speed dial of the only person he could trust when it came to the Senshi.

"I'm at work right now, Urawa; no time to gossip!" The high-pitched voice of Shunji Sakamoto could bore through the human skull, but this annoyance could be overlooked; the man was a walking encyclopedia on everything Senshi. The Tokyo PD lab technician seemed like he was working himself into a frenzy on this day, like he had smoked two bags of biker speed before hitting the office.

"This is business, big guy. I need some intel from you, and it's Senshi related."

"Okay, but you better make it quick, my boss has been riding my ass all day."

"Do you know anything about a 'Back to Luna Movement'?" Urawa asked.

"Huh, that's a weird question. Anyway, I do know of the group. They're basically a bunch of cranky ne'er-do-wells who are sick of seeing the Senshi all over the media. Since you're asking, I'm sure you've seen their posters."

"Yeah, that's a quality piece of fan art," Urawa chuckled.

"Exactly. They're pretty combative, though their kind of warfare is usually done on internet message boards and forums."

"Have you heard of any physical confrontations?"

"Nothing to speak of lately, but they have caused a ruckus in a few manga and anime stores around the city from time to time."

Urawa spoke up, asking, "You said lately; what do you mean by that?"

"There was a few, let's say, 'extreme' elements that used to be in the group. There was a near brawl at a convention just a few months ago, in fact. From what I've heard, most of those psychopaths were banned from the group and have since gone underground...well, even more underground than a normal Senshi fan group."

"Well, if you get the chance, I'll need you to poke around online, see if you can find anything more about these rogue members."

"Will do."

With that, Urawa ended the call and marched back into the store, again squeezing by the line of nerds who shot him filthy looks when he accidentally bumped into them. Opening the door to the backroom again, he found Takashi with one of his arms around the shoulders of Norio, speaking in a near whisper. Takashi glanced back up and simply nodded towards Urawa, saying, "I think we should get going."

Urawa waved him off to question Norio further, starting with,"You said the 'Back to Luna Movement' was just a discussion group, correct?" Norio nodded, so the detective continued, "And the group meets here, is that also correct?" Another nod. "Well, from what I've heard, your little group is a actually pretty outspoken anti-Senshi coalition, or is that just gossip?"

"Well, I guess you could say that," Norio muttered.

"Seems like that would cause quite a bit of friction, wouldn't it, selling Senshi merchandise to fans while at the same time hosting a group that says it wants to shoot them into space? Kind of a conflict of interest, if you ask me."

Norio finally spoke up for the first time, saying, "I have to sell the Senshi stuff in order to make any money! I run a business; I can't afford to play with ideologies like that. I just wish some of their popularity would die off, is all."

Takashi shot Urawa a glance, encouraging him to follow up that statement. "I've been told by my source that there's a pretty violent element in your little group, one that almost started a riot a few months back. How does that help business?"

"L-listen, I kicked those guys out a while ago. I couldn't afford them causing any trouble."

"Did any of them have problems with Ayame?"

Norio hung his head, his body drooped with dismay as he uttered, "Yes. She got into it with a few of them." Then his voice came back firm as he continued, "But it was nothing physical, trust me. I put a stop to it before it could get that far."

"So, do you have the names of any of these troublemakers?"

"No, I didn't know them personally."

Takashi butted in, "Well, I'm sure you know somebody that does. We need their names." Takashi grunted, forcing a card into Norio's hand, "and if we don't get them soon, we'll have another chat someplace far less comfortable." With that, the two detectives left the shop owner to stew in his own distress, while they headed out into the welcome breeze of the city.

Takashi pushed a cigarette out of a pack and handed one to his partner, "You did good in there, kid, that's what I like to see. There's a train station not far from here; you can go home and catch some sleep. I'll see you first thing in the morning."

* * *

Mists were snaking their way past Urawa, reaching out and grasping his arms with a gentle, cold embrace before moving past. The ether was inky-black, a vacuum that lulled him with it's nothingness. Dead was the silence in this realm; long, aching, infinite. If there was a purgatory, this might have been it; an indescribable void of solitude that trapped unfortunate souls within their own memories, a place of torture. Then he heard the laughter.

It rang out, swam through his ears like golden bells, while breaking his heart all over again. He could almost see her short, pixie-like haircut, slender shoulders, and sly smile that seemed to say that she knew everything about you. He could only think her name, Jun, but he didn't want to speak it. Makoto thought he still burned for her, but that wasn't right. He ached with the feeling of regret for that one big mistake of his life—well, the biggest one anyway. He had fucked it all up, and he took responsibility for it. He couldn't try to keep her with him, and the fact that she had moved on and found someone else was solace enough. At least he hadn't screwed her up permanently.

Some old men around the station say that in order to be a good cop, you need a bad marriage, and they aren't too far off. It wasn't all bad, but it was like their relationship had a timer attached, like a bomb. Urawa wondered why he even thought of her; it was an event that occurred less and less often now that he had met Makoto.

'Makoto'. Even the name surged with energy, whipping the mists into a dervish, swirling in hypnotic loops, coalescing to form her face, body, skin. She walked towards him, her step lighter than air, dressed in a faint silver gown that flowed like the seas. As she approached, she wrapped one cool arm around his neck and brought his face closer to hers, her lips puckered in a celestial embrace, promising something bright.

"Detective?"

The feminine voice rattled Urawa from his deep slumber. His eyes shot open, reaching for the baseball bat that was kept beside his bed.

"Now, there's no need for that."

He still wrapped his hands around the grip of the weapon, but slowly turned on the lights before swinging wildly into the dark. The now viciously bright bedroom assaulted his eyes, but he was able to make out the slender figure that was posed just at the foot of his bed. Decked out in a somber skirt and jacket combo, long green hair cascading elegantly down her back like a dream itself, Setsuna was just about the last person Urawa expected.

"Good evening, Detective. I apologize for waking you; I often forget the natural circadian rhythms for normal humans when I live for too long outside the stream of time."

Urawa looked her over from head to toe, just to reassure himself that this wasn't another dream. "I'm not going to bother asking how the hell you got in here, but I'm going to assume that this isn't a social call."

"No, I don't think Makoto would approve of that. I just come bearing a message for you."

"Well, make it fast, or I'll just go back to sleep on you."

"I'm here to warn you that your aid will be necessary to protect the Senshi," Setsuna stated with grave solemnity.

Urawa traced his finger over the light pink scar that ran from his right cheek up to the temple, remarking, "If you don't remember, I'm not that impressive when it comes to monster fighting heroics."

A hint of a smile crossed her face for just a moment before she stated, "You won't be fighting Youma, per se. All I can say is that you're actions will carry weight, so please be vigilant."

"And that's it?" Urawa groaned.

"There isn't anything more I can do without altering the course of time. But I'm sure you understand."

Urawa dropped back down onto his bed, moaning, "If that's all, then you can find your way out."

* * *

**That's it for this chapter. Once again, I apologize for the delay, and I should be able to put out another chapter a little bit sooner. If you have any questions, feel free to message me, or just leave a review, and I can respond if you like.**


	4. Chapter 4

** Wow, so it's been a whole year. I really apologize to those of you who have been waiting for the next chapter; life has been kind of crazy. Work, school, getting published as an author (online and in anthologies, but published just the same), it's been busy. Since so much of my attention and efforts as far as writing are concerned have gone towards building a career, it hasn't left me a lot of time to get to this. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and with summer upon us, I feel like I'll have the time to finish this story. It is something I really want to do, and I never would have come back and finished _Youma Dust_ if I didn't have this story sitting in the back of my mind. So if those of you who have been patiently waiting are still around, my deepest apologies, and I hope to make it up to you. I think I've grown a lot as a writer, and I think my work will show it. For those of you who are coming into this for the first time, you should start with my story _Youma Dust_ first. Please leave comments, criticisms, and suggestions; they mean a lot.**

* * *

Urawa hopped from the elevator onto the third sub-level of the Tokyo PD headquarters. A full nights sleep, Setsuna's late-night intrusion aside, was just what he needed to put the spring back into his step. And that kind of sunny optimism was necessary to brave a trip down to the dreary home of the PD's laboratory. Shadowy figures decked out in white lab coats and sullen expressions floated between maze-like rooms like ghosts, hidden deep underground, overworked and under-appreciated. This was the home away from home for the corpulent and slavish Senshi otaku Shunji Sakamoto.

The detective passed by rooms labeled "DNA" and "Fingerprints" until he found the computer forensics department. Passing through the glass door, he spotted Shunji across the room, sheepishly conferring with one of his female colleagues. Trekking forward quickly, but silently, Urawa ambushed the hapless lout, grabbing him by one meaty arm and dragging him towards a nearby conference room. "Sorry, ma'am, official business. I'm sure you understand."

Marching into the deserted meeting room, Urawa slammed the door behind him with a resounding crash, a sound not loud enough to erase the shocked look from his friend's face. When he managed to gain some of his composure, Shunji jabbed one thick digit into Urawa's chest. "What the hell is wrong with you, didn't you see what was going on? I was _this_ close to asking her out on a date!"

"That's what I was saving you from."

"What does that even mean?" the technician yelled with every ounce of pent up frustration he had.

"Come on, you were drowning out there. A dead man has better moves then you; I was just trying to help you out."

"By dragging me away? What good is that going to do me?"

Urawa grabbed Shunji forcibly by the shoulders, shaking him out of his hysterics. "What good is it going to do you? You'll look like a goddamn hotshot, that's what. She sees homicide detectives actually coming down to speak to you in person, asking for your help on a case, and she'll think you're the baddest son-of-a-bitch down here. Listen, when we leave, I'll set you up, make everything look really good, and then you can go in there and seal the deal."

Shunji's face became flushed with the thought of being next to a real woman, a bead of sweat coming to his forehead. He muttered, "You really think I can do it?"

Urawa looked him over from head to toe before returning with, "Knowing you...probably not. Just think of her as, I don't know, your hug pillow or something. Maybe that would make it easier for you."

"Only Ami-chan really understands me."

"You named your hug pillow?" Shunji stared dejectedly at his feet, making the rookie detective wonder why he had even bothered trying to help him. "Forget it, man. I'm really here to see if you were able to follow up on that request I made the other day."

"Oh, yeah, the 'Back to Lunar Movement' business. Unfortunately, most of the rejects from that group were only known by online handles, so it's been difficult to get any real information about most of them. However, I did find one name for you: Mai Endo. Female, 28 years old, rabid Senshi hater. Luckily, a friend of mine went to high school with her, so that made everything a whole lot easier."

"Great, I'll look into it." Urawa entered the name into his cell phone and saved it, but a sour look came over his face. "Let me get this straight, first. This 'movement' is basically just a bunch of cranky manga and anime fans who are pissed about the amount of Senshi merch, correct?"

"That's the meat of it, yeah."

"So what's different about this group; what makes them violent lunatics in comparison?"

Shunji's face lit up with a know-it-all smile as he chimed in, "I looked into that for you as well. Turns out that these kids used to be members of Senshi fan communities around the city. Most of the people in the 'Movement' don't actually believe in the Senshi, like the rest of the ignorant masses. But these separatists actually believe the Senshi _do_ exist, and they claim that the girls are actually here to take over the world."

"That's...a novel idea."

"Pretty idiotic, I know. Doesn't make a lot of sense considering that the Senshi spend most of their time saving the city, not attacking it. Anyway, they joined the 'Movement' out of convenience more than anything; the whole 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' sort of deal.

"The shopkeeper we spoke to the other day, Norio Sato, claimed that he had been holding meetings at his store that some of these guys attended. Have you heard anything about his involvement in this?"

Shunji shook his head, "No, nothing that I've come across, but I'll look into him further for you."

"Do that, and get back to me as soon as you can. I don't know if we caused a stir at that store the other day, but if the killer was there, he might speed up his schedule."

"You think he's targeting Senshi fans?"

Urawa gazed out the door, "We're not sure yet. It's the only thing that ties all the victims together, though."

"You think I should warn fans online about this?" Shunji asked, with worry plastered across his face.

"No. If the killer is part of this group, then he'll probably be trolling online message boards as well. If he catches wind that we're figuring out his game, he's liable to change things up, become unpredictable. Our best chance of catching him is when he becomes too set into a routine." Urawa jammed his cell phone back into his pocket and headed towards the door. He looked over his shoulder, exclaiming to his friend, "Hey, get your game face ready. I'm going to do you a favor here, and it won't be my fault if you can't this girl to go out with you."

Shunji smiled weakly as he followed behind the detective, but the images of friends, companions, possibly brutally slain, still lurked behind his eyes.

"Thanks a lot for your hard work, Mr. Sakamoto. I'm sure we'll need your help in the future, so I hope you don't mind me coming down here and taking advantage of your expertise in the future," Urawa said with a thick, almost overly appreciative tone.

"H-hey...no problem, anything I can do to help the team..." Shunji's words dribbled out of his mouth, his clenched fists shoved deep into his pockets. Urawa shot a glance at the female tech who was still waiting in Shunji

Urawa turned on his heels and headed towards the door, brushing against Shunji's shoulder. Urawa lowered his voice to a mere whisper as he passed, "Stand up straight, quit mumbling, and for the love of God look her in the eyes."

* * *

The bleating horns of the city streets barged their way into Urawa's car, overwhelming the thick distortion of the music from his stereo. Takashi leaned back in his seat and counted the fibers of the car's roof, a copy of the case report sitting in his lap. Takashi folded his arms behind his head and glanced at Urawa from the corner of one half-shut eye. "You sure we should be tracking down this Mai woman?"

Urawa leaned his arm out the window, letting the wind play with the hairs on his arm. "What do you mean?"

"We've got nothing to tie her to the murders. We can't hold her, we can't arrest her, we can't get a warrant for her place. If this 'Back to Luna Movement' is behind everything, then what's to keep her from alerting the rest of them?"

"If you've got a better lead, I'd be damn happy to hear it."

"I've been doing this too long; if I had somethin' to add I'd let you know."

Urawa lit a fresh cigarette and allowed his fingers to toy with the lighter. "Way I see it, they're already underground. If we can get in this girl's head, maybe we can find out where the rest of them are. I'm not saying we won't have to do some dancing; I don't want to lay all our cards out on the table just yet. But if we can get the rest of the group on our radar, the better off we'll be."

"I'll buy that. Where do you have her living?"

"Last I could tell, an apartment just north of Asakusa."

Takashi snorted, "You mean Sanya? You bring your gun with you?"

"I think we'll manage." Urawa took a long drag from his cigarette and watched the smoke dance and twirl in the city air. The sun was still high in the sky, shooting its rays onto flattened concrete and glass. There was still hours to go until it stretched and slid and eased its way behind the buildings and the restless sea beyond them, when the drunks and crooks would stagger down the streets of Sanya. It was a mercenary neighborhood, a part of town that no longer had a name, at least officially. The kind of place people didn't talk about, and would never claim to come from.

The chipper ring of his phone snapped Urawa back to reality. "Hello? Yeah...yeah. Um...probably? Well, because I don't...well I can't just...you know I wouldn't do that! Very funny...yes,yes, you should be a comedian. Okay, I'll see you later then."

"Was it that young lady you've been seeing?" Takashi didn't bother to open his eyes.

"'Seeing' is such a strong word."

"Does 'that young girl you're playing games with' sound better?"

Urawa's shoulders slumped, "Unfortunately...yes. I guess she was meeting up with an old friend and her fiancee for dinner and wanted me to come along."

"Sounds like you're 'seeing' her to me."

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

Takashi ran his fingers through his hair, a plain gold wedding band sparkled dully on his left hand. "Why does it need to be complicated?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Night of the Wolf_

_By: Shoddywork_

_Chapter 5: Injustice_

** Here's chapter five for you guys. It's a little short, and I apologize for that, but I figured I might as well put it out since it's done rather than wait. Hopefully I'll have another, longer chapter done soon. Please review; I appreciate it. If you have any questions, just PM me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.**

* * *

"Listen, my court case isn't for another week, so I ain't gonna' talk to you without my lawyer." Mai Endo's pale, bony face peered through the crack in the barely-opened door, her skin reflecting the sun outside into a faint blur like a ghost against the inky black of her apartment. Urawa peered past her shoulder, but could only make out piles of magazines and a cheap teak table that was bending under the weight of Mai's computer.

"We're not here about the assault charges, ma'am. We were hoping to talk to you about something else." Takashi's eyes drooped ever so slightly, a thin smile forming from underneath his mustache. He was like a master character actor, deploying the "concerned father" role with breezy effortlessness. Takashi was at home here.

"Then what?"

"It's concerning some of your friends."

"Don't know nothin'."

"They might be in trouble." Urawa jumped in to the conversation, but his eyes scanned the rest of the bruised, derelict apartment building, keeping a careful eye on the speed-freaks down the hall.

"Listen, I barely know those guys. I jus' happen to talk to them once in a while, that's all."

Urawa took a step forward and leaned in to Mai, his eyes just a few inches from her's. "You might want to talk to us, unless you think they can deal with the Senshi on their own."

Mai's eyes widened to the size of mid-summer moons propped up against the dark circles under her eyes. "Wh-what the hell are you talkin' about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Mai. You think they'd let a bunch of punks out them to the world and not do anything about it?"

Takashi gently laid one hand on Mai's shoulder, "Let's go in and talk about this."

Mai stood to the side, her eyes fixed on a spot of nothing in the corner of her disheveled studio. Urawa and Takashi made their way in, easing over piles of manga and bootleg DVDs, the sunlight from the door gasping into darkness as Mai closed the door behind them. She started to pace the room, numbly kicking aside stacks of junk that had built up over God knows how many years. Her pale, nervous fingers tugged at the fabric of her sleeveless shirt as she panted, "I-I don't believe this. You two have gotta be lying. The police don't even believe they exist."

"How could we not notice a bunch of girls rampaging across this city for so many years?" Urawa looked for a place to sit that wasn't covered in clutter, but decided it was better to just lean against the bare-white walls.

Takashi grabbed Mai by her reed-thin shoulders to stop her restless pacing. "Calm down, now. If you want to help your friends, we need you to be as honest with us as possible."

Mai simply nodded her head. A silver pendant jangled around her neck like a nervous, gleaming butterfly.

"We received an anonymous tip earlier this morning. Seems that the Senshi are worried that your group might be gaining momentum. Could be that they're worried that you'll turn public opinion against them." Urawa caught her gaze.

"We're jus' a few people, why would they bother?"

"Yeah, for now. But you've been making a lot of noise, especially when you guys almost set off a riot at that convention."

Takashi motioned for her to sit down, "A lot of fans have been talking about your 'Back to Luna Movement'. If I had to guess, I'm sure the Senshi are worried that if some of them buy into the movement, then this whole thing will snowball on them."

"If you're so worried about us, then why aren't you out there tracking down the Senshi?" Mai's face crinkled in a grimace of panicked irritation.

"If it was only that easy. The anonymous source refused to name any of the Senshi. Worried that since he was one of the few people to know who they are, they'd be easy to find if word got out that someone was talking to the cops." Takashi eased himself down onto the dusty hardwood floor and leaned against the wall.

Mai glared at the two of them, "This doesn't make any sense. Why would you guys just act on a random anonymous tip? Why are you so damn concerned?"

Urawa spoke up, "They've been on our radar for a while. They were linked to a series of explosions a few years back. Plus, we think they're tied to the killings of a number of young girls in the Azabu-Juban area."

"Those girls were Senshi fans, why would the Senshi get involved?"

"You knew them?" Urawa peered down at her from the corner of his eyes, not wanting to push her too far too fast.

"Well, kinda, I guess...jus' enough to know that they were big into the Senshi. Wouldn't shut up about them."

"How did you know them? Where did you see them? Why would the Senshi be involved?" Urawa slowly strummed his fingers against the white cuff of his shirt.

"From the manga store. They were there all the time to buy the new tankobons and all that shit."

"You hassle them?"

"No! Well...we got into it a bit a few times, yeah, but nothin' major." Mai's eyes flitted about the room, a few stray hairs wilting down in front of her eyes, casting miniscule shadows across her face from the few orange rays of sunlight that were crashing against the dirty blinds closed up against the windows.

"Mai, why do you think the Senshi would be after those girls?" Takashi asked.

"I...I'm not sure. Really, I don't know. SHIT! This is why I always knew they'd get it from the Senshi, dressin' up like them and everything!"

"Do you mind?" Urawa motioned towards his cigarettes and Mai dumbly nodded her approval, taking one in her sickly fingers. Urawa blew a sliver of smoke that twirled among the particles of dust. "Why did you think they'd get it?"

"'Cause. They're dangerous; we're all jus' bugs to them. Doesn't matter if you're one of their followers or not. They've got magic, magic that'll freeze this world. It'll all stop. It's like the deal with the devil, the kind Westerners are always talkin' about. You know what I mean?"

"Tell me."

"You give up your soul for a wish, but the devil always finds a way to fuck you over. Those girls, they bought into the whole Senshi thing. They sold their souls to them. The Senshi could take them whenever they wanted. They played with something they didn't understand."

Takashi sat up and brushed off his slacks before easing his way over to Mai who still squeezed her unlit cigarette between her fingers. Takashi flicked a lighter with a mechanical crack and lit it for her. Stuffing the lighter back into his pocket, he reached for the silver pendant around Mai's neck and opened the face. The image of a tired young man with his dark hair recklessly combed around a pair of thick glasses squatted inside the jewelry. "Boyfriend?"

"Somethin' like that."

"What's his name?"

"Daijiro."

"Talked to him lately?"

Mai's brown eyes began to mist around the edges, but her voice didn't waver, "No."

"Worried? I'd be worried myself."

"He-he can be hard to reach sometimes. It's nothing new."

Takashi fished back into his pocket and pulled out an off-white business card. He placed the card in her hand, her fingers running across the rough paper. She closed her eyes, the tears clinging to her eyelashes like morning-dew while her fingers continued to trace their way across the card like it was the closest thing to physical contact she had in years. It was something she could feel, something imperfect.

Urawa had to turn away; he couldn't stand to look at her any more. The dust and dirt, the lifeless junk that filled her pitiful apartment was like the ash and bones of a decayed world, like he had walked into a mausoleum. When they left, he imagined, she would be left with the gravestones around her and the almost imperceptible murmur of the electronic box she had stored the remaining bits and pieces of herself. It felt too close to him; too personal.

* * *

"You think she knew what was going on?" Urawa turned towards Takashi who was busy typing a text message on his phone.

"I don't think so. But her boyfriend probably does; the way she fell apart when I asked her about him, there's something there."

"Won't do us any good if she doesn't know where he is."

"If she doesn't know now, she'll find out." Takashi cracked his knuckles.

"I guess we're waiting here then," Urawa sighed.

"I guess we are."

Urawa peered into his rear-view mirror, catching only the melting shadows of people who scurried out of sight. Two cops, in this neighborhood; they were bound to get some attention. Word would pass through every building and alley like a cool wind off the bay.


End file.
